ON PSYCHEDELICS

What they are, their role in initiatic traditions, and why they are the antithesis of hard drugs.

Poison or Threshold

In degenerate civilizations, substances are categorized according to legality, medical use, or physiological risk. This approach—typically modern—ignores the ontological nature of substances and their function in earlier cycles of humanity. A substance is neither good nor bad in itself: it is a vehicle, a key, a vector. What matters is what it opens, what it reveals—or veils.

Among these substances, psychedelics occupy a singular position. They are neither stimulants, nor sedatives, nor addictive chemicals. They do not produce mechanical euphoria, nor emotional compensation. Their effect aims neither at relaxation, nor at forgetting, nor at pleasure — but at rupture. They shatter the enclosure of the ego. They tear open the fabric of consensus reality. And sometimes, in a flash, they allow a glimpse of a world not dependent on the brain, nor on language, nor on time.

From this perspective, psychedelics are not drugs. They are thresholds. They may become gateways to the Absolute or abysses of confusion, depending on the orientation of the one who approaches them. They demand from the one who uses them that he know what he seeks — and that he be ready to die to receive it.

Traditional Use and Initiatic Framework

Moderns love to repeat that “psychedelics were used in ancient traditions,” often to justify their hedonistic consumption. This statement, although partially true, must be entirely reframed. A plant containing a psychoactive compound is not psychedelic in the strict sense. And a ritual use of a plant in an archaic society does not necessarily mean it formed part of a real initiatic path.

The mark of initiatic traditions—in their integral form—is that they placed man within a vertical axis: between the world of perishable forms and the invisible Sovereignty. The goal of any initiatic path is not knowledge or wisdom, but the radical overcoming of the human condition. Within this framework, certain substances were used—not for their hallucinogenic effect, but for their power to provoke controlled deconstruction. It was not about escaping the world, but about breaking the mirror of the self.

In the Vedas, Soma. Among Amazonian peoples, Ayahuasca. Among the Mazatecs, the teonanacatl mushrooms. Among Nordic tribes, the fly agaric. In certain branches of Shaivite Tantrism, Bhang. These substances were never taken lightly. They were reserved for specific castes, states, and moments. They were sacrificial. The being who received them had to die to the profane world. The objective was never experience, but transcendence of experience.

Psychedelics and the Right Transgression

In The Doctrine of Awakening, Evola speaks of a “higher Dionysian” character found in some practices that are neither ascetic nor licentious, but aimed at producing a break in the circle. There exist, he says, forms of transgression that do not lead to collapse but to the irruption of the beyond into the here. These transgressions are valid only when inscribed within an absolute inner discipline.

In this framework, psychedelics can become instruments of controlled rupture. But for that, three conditions must be met:

1. Verticality of intention: If the intake is aimed at pleasure, emotional healing, or amusement, it is already corrupted. It can reveal nothing. But if the intention is to cross the threshold of death, the effect may become initiatic.

2. Silence of the self: The substance must not be used to “experience something,” but to withdraw. The subject must cease to seek, to feel, to judge. He must become transparent.

3. Inner sovereignty: The being must be able to traverse the experience without being lost in it. He must not be swept away by forms. He must remain immobile at the center of the storm, rooted in the Axis.

When these three conditions are met, a psychedelic substance becomes a key of actualization. It does not replace inner work but accelerates certain effects. It acts as a catalyst—not a substitute.

Against Mystical Illusion

The greatest danger of psychedelics is not physical — it is ontological. It is not crisis, nor panic, nor loss of reference — but the illusion of “awakening.” Many experience ego dissolution and believe it to be enlightenment. Many pass through ecstasy and take it for liberation. Many hear voices, see entities, feel “one with everything” — and imagine they’ve reached Truth.

But all of this still lies within the realm of forms. It is not the Absolute — it is the final trap. For as long as there is experience, as long as there is a feeling of unity, as long as there is someone having something — the ego is still there.

The goal is not ecstasy. The goal is not universal love. The goal is not temporary dissolution in a luminous Whole. The goal is radical de-identification. The goal is to stand outside the world, even the subtle world. The goal is absolute transcendence, the state of conscious non-experience.

Psychedelics vs. Hard Drugs

A sharp boundary must be drawn between psychedelics and what are called “hard drugs”: opiates, methamphetamines, cocaine, heroin. These substances open no door. They close. They do not dissolve the ego — they reinforce it in its lowest tendencies. They do not elevate — they hollow out. They offer no passage, no threshold, no light. They enslave.

Their chemical structure, their effects on the nervous system, their social use — all place them squarely in the logic of inner enslavement. These substances render the being dependent, passive, disoriented. They do not produce vision — they dull. They do not break form — they trap in form. They do not abolish the self — they fix it in its fall.

Opium, hard alcohol, amphetamines — these are instruments of the Kali Yuga. They do not provoke the irruption of the invisible. They produce visible hell.

Psychedelics and the Kali Yuga

Our age is marked by confusion. Everything that was once sacred is profaned. Everything once hidden is exposed. Psychedelics are no exception. They are now consumed at festivals, in New Age therapies, in commodified retreats. They are accompanied by electronic music, mass ceremonies, and soothing discourse. They are instrumentalized.

But this does not diminish their power. It only heightens the danger. For the more powerful a key, the more chaos it unleashes when misused. One who comes into contact with these substances without preparation, without silence, without the right intent, risks two dangers: being lost in forms — or deceiving himself about his own realization.

Let it be said again: psychedelics are not therapies. They do not heal. They do not cure. They destroy. And this destruction, if oriented toward the Higher, can be redemptive. But if left to chance, it will only magnify existing fractures.

The Key of Fire

Psychedelics, in the metaphysical perspective of Evola, must not be approached as cultural, psychological, or medical objects. They are keys of fire. They are valuable only if they burn what is false. They serve only if they hasten the death of the self.

They are not necessary. But in certain cases, they may act as catalysts of rupture — not for those who seek visions, but for those who seek to cease being seen. Not for those who wish to feel better — but for those who wish to cease to be. Not for those who seek experiences — but for those who wish to disappear into Presence.

And that Presence, when it unveils itself, leaves nothing.No name.No voice.No trace.

Only the naked light of Being.Without music.Without form.Without return.

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